


The Prince and the Pirate

by questionsleftunanswered



Category: Princess Bride (1987), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsleftunanswered/pseuds/questionsleftunanswered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the small nation of Florin, Sherlock Holmes works as a farmhand to the Watson family. For the sake of true love, he leaves to regain his fortune in order to marry John. However, Sherlock's ship is attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts and word of his death is sent back. Now, John is poised to marry the heir to the throne of Florin. He still can't help but mourn the lanky, disheveled farm boy who used "as you wish" in place of "I love you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Plot predominantly follows that of Princess Bride (1987) and contains some of the iconic quotes from the film. It is not necessary to have seen the movie prior to reading this. This fic currently has a working title that is subject to change. The first chapter is different from how it was initially uploaded with a minor plot change.

At the Baker Street Orphanage for Young Boys, it was commonly known that Mrs Hudson was the best source for tea and biscuits. There were other people there who made tea, but none compared to the perfect brew that Mrs Hudson was guaranteed to produce. 

On this particular occasion, Will had just run in form the bitter cold outside. There was snow falling over London and the boys were outside throwing snowballs at one another. 

“Will,” Mrs Hudson said, “You’re in early. All the other boys are outside still.”

“I know, but I just wanted a cuppa. I think I’m done playing outside for now, actually.” Will pulled a second hand hat off of his head to reveal unruly dark curls. 

Mrs Hudson smiled and offered him a seat in one of the armchairs. 

The young boy took a seat in the offered armchair. Mrs Hudson gathered plates and set the kettle to boil. She put a small plate with a few biscuits down.

“I’m afraid I’m a bit low on biscuits today. One of the other matrons might return with a pack, though. They usually know when I need some.”

The kettle whistled and tea was brought to the sitting room. Mrs Hudson set it up on the little table that sat between two armchairs. 

After a moment of silence during which they both sipped their tea, Mrs Hudson said, “I was actually just about to start reading this book when you came in. Would you like me to read it to you? I used to read it to a little boy I minded when I was younger.”

It was rare that someone read a story to Will. An orphan, he didn’t have parents to sit by his bedside each night. The few times he was read to, it was by the older children at the home. Appreciating stories as any child would, Will nodded his head and settled in. 

Mrs Hudson opened the somewhat shabby-looking book and began to read. 

“The Prince and Pirate, by S. Morgenstern. Chapter 1.”

***

The Watson family owned a small farm in the country of Florin. There they raised their two children, John and Harriet. They were modest people and made their living on the farm. The only person in their employ was a farm boy named Sherlock. Sent to work by his family to pay off debts incurred by his drug habit, Sherlock was originally born and bred on the other side of the High Wall - the castle’s side. He worked well, replacing the substances with studying all that he could. 

Harriet Watson, the elder of the two, was often away in the fisherman’s village. This left her brother, John, largely alone. 

John’s favorite pasttimes were horseback riding and tormenting Sherlock, though John chose to refer to him simply as “farmboy.”

“Farmboy,” John’s clear voice called.

Sherlock was mid-stroke when he heard John’s summons. Pushing a few more piles of hay into the horse stable, Sherlock wiped his face and looked up to find the shorter blond standing in the doorway. 

“There you are,” John said good-naturedly. “I thought you had run away again to read.”

Sherlock merely nodded and went back to raking hay into the stable. 

“Farmboy, I need you to polish my saddle. I want to be able to see my face in it.”

Sherlock nodded. “As you wish.”

John walked away, smiling to himself. It wasn’t that he enjoyed ordering Sherlock about, though he would be lying to himself if he claimed to not get a bit of satisfaction out of it. No, it was the small smirk that always played across Sherlock’s features whenever he agreed to one of John’s demands. It was subtle, barely there, but John could see it. 

“Farmboy,” John called out days later. He was wandering across a field, knowing full well that Sherlock was out mending the fence to one of the horses’ pastures. 

Sherlock looked up from his work and shielded his eyes against the sun. 

“Farmboy, I want to know what you were up reading so late last night.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I think I do. Every moment that you aren’t working, you are reading a book that you’ve stolen from the merchant in the village. Don’t try to deny it. Harry saw you take one just the other day when she was…well, never mind where she was.” 

“The book I was reading contained the history and law of Florin from foundation to present day.” 

John smiled at that, already knowing the answer. He held up the book triumphantly stating, “And what if I was to go and tell the rightful owner that you pinched this?”

“You won’t,” Sherlock challenged.

“Who says I won’t?” 

“I know you won’t because you don’t actually want me to simply tell you what I was reading. You want me to teach you some of the things that I have read and learned.”

“And who says I want to learn anything from you? You’re a simple farm boy.” Despite his words, John had an easy grin on his face. 

“Because you think I’m brilliant. Don’t try to hide it, I am brilliant.”

“And so humble. Is everyone who comes from castle so full of themselves?”

“No, I’m special.” 

John laughed at that and held the book behind his back once again. “Farmboy, tonight you are going to teach me some of the history of Florin.” 

“As you wish.” 

That night, Sherlock taught John by candlelight. He was surprised to find that John was quick-witted and not as dull as the son of a farm owner is thought to be. Days passed and John would ask Sherlock to teach him more, especially the books that involved medicine. At every request for a new topic, Sherlock would simply reply, “As you wish.”

Of course, John’s playful antagonizing during the day continued. 

“Farmboy, fetch me some water for my horse,” John asked. 

“As you wish.”

“Farmboy, chop extra wood today. I want a long-burning fire for this evening. I feel a chill coming.”

“As you wish.”

With each lesson and each request, Sherlock began to feel more attached to John. He was so eager to learn and there was something about him that fascinated Sherlock to no end. The rest of the world was full of people who were dull and the same and predictable. But John - John was something entirely different. 

As the days and weeks went on, Sherlock paid off more and more of his debt to his family and his days at the farm became numbered. His replies of “as you wish” became declarations of love, and it didn’t take John long to realise it. 

After a discussion on the various types of plants and their healing properties, John was ready to call it a night. He was practically falling asleep there at the table. Sherlock, damn him, looked alert and ready to begin a new day.

“Farmboy,” John said softly.

Sherlock looked up from the book before him to raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Kiss me,” John said a bit breathlessly. 

“As you wish.”

The kiss was soft, but fierce. John slid closer to Sherlock on the bench and leaned in. He braced a hand on Sherlock’s knee for balance before quickly removing it. He could feel Sherlock smiling against his lips.

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock whispered. “You can put your hands on me if you want to.” 

So John did. It was a gentle touch, both hands resting on Sherlock’s waist as though he could be burned any second. Sherlock, however, wrapped strong arms around John’s torso and pulled him closer. He deepened the kiss and poured all of the unfamiliar emotion that he felt for John into the embrace. 

They pulled apart and Sherlock looked directly into John’s eyes. He thought they looked like the sea after a storm, but would rather die than admit such a sentiment. 

***

“Wait, wait, wait,” Will interrupted, “Is this a real book or just some silly story?”

Mrs Hudson feigned offense. “You think I would make up some story? Why would I do such a thing?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Will smiled mischievously behind his mug of tea. 

“Well no, it is a genuine book that I genuinely read to other children. If you don’t like it I can stop and you are free to go back to your snowball fight.” 

“No,” Will said quickly, “Keep reading.”

“Right,” Mrs Hudson nodded. “Now, where was I…”

***

It was Sherlock who broke the silence between them, his arms loosening so he could take in the full measure of John: the flush creeping up his chest to his cheeks, the half closed eyes, the growing tent in his trousers. 

“John Watson,” Sherlock began.

“Yes?” John interrupted. 

“Would you be quiet for a moment.” 

“Sorry, you were saying.”

Sherlock gave his head a small shake and started again, “John Watson, will you marry me?”

John opened his eyes all the way and looked at Sherlock like he was seeing him for the first time. 

“Yes!” John said. “Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

“I’ll have to leave before we can do so, though. I have to go and claim my fortune back from my family so I can give you a proper home. They do not approve of my choices, but they cannot deny me my inheritance.”

John simply nodded, high on the idea of marrying Sherlock. He didn’t care that the Holmes family was a line of earls or that Sherlock was essentially excommunicated from the family. His joy came from love for Sherlock alone. Their love was true. 

The next day Sherlock packed his bags and kissed John goodbye. He had to seek his fortune before returning and marrying John. 

“What if something happens to you?” John asked.

“I’ll come back. Stop worrying,” Sherlock replied. 

“You know I won’t do that. Promise me. Swear to me here that you will return,” John demanded. 

“As you wish,” Sherlock replied. “Hear this now, I will always come for you.” 

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m brilliant, remember? I’ll make sure of it.” 

Sherlock shouldered his pack and left the farm. 

It was months later that John heard of Sherlock’s fate. He was sailing to his family when the ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts. A notoriously evil man, it was common knowledge that the pirate never left captives alive. 

John sunk into a depression. He argued constantly with Harry and didn’t notice her increasing dependency on drink. Rather, John threw himself into learning. He dedicated himself to mastering the finer points of riding and swordplay. He read and reread all of Sherlock’s books. John didn’t know it, but he had become somewhat of a legend among the people in the village. Whenever he went in to sell the farm’s goods, women and men would take note of his looks and wit. It was an accepted truth that John was the most eligible bachelor around. Few knew of his past with Sherlock, and even fewer that theirs was true love. 

Rumors reached the castle of this perfect man named John. It drew the attention of James Moriarty, prince and heir to the throne of Florin. As prince, James could choose whomever he wanted as his partner in ruling the kingdom. Handsome and obviously desirable, many young women were devastated when it came to light that the prince preferred men. 

Curious to meet the commoner, Moriarty set out for the small village and then to the Watson farm. 

John looked out the window at a clear sky, roused by the sound of not-so-distant trumpets. Riding down the hill was a company of twenty men. They pulled up a respectable distance from the house and only one rode to the door. He dismounted and knocked. 

John immediately recognized him as the prince and hastened to open the door.

“Prince James?” John asked, utterly stunned. He remembered his manners and bowed to the prince before inviting him inside. 

Moriarty wandered into the small cottage and surveyed the home with what seemed like a pleasant air. Accustomed to reading Sherlock’s expression, John could see the well-hidden distain. 

“You are John Watson?” the prince asked.

“Yes, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Ignoring the question, Moriarty went on to ask, “And where is your sister, Harriet?”

John stiffened. Harry was most likely at the brothel in the village with the whore she claimed to love. It was not love for the woman that called Harry there. It was love of the bottle that kept her going back. She was too far gone for John’s counsel to do any good. His advice fell on deaf ears. 

“I think she’s in town selling some of our vegetables.”

Moriarty knew John was lying, but maintained his polite smile nonetheless.

“John, I have come to ask if you would care to come to dinner with me tonight? I’ve brought my own supplies to cook and would be very pleased if you would join me.” 

“It would be my honor, but I fear that my humble home is incomparable to the kitchens of your castle.” John poured every effort into keeping his tone and sarcasm in check. 

“Nonsense! I brought the kitchen and hall with me. My men will set up the tent for us wherever you wish and the cook can build up a fire and make our dinner.”

John agreed, incapable of denying the heir to the throne a simple meal. He watched as the cook prepared herbs and spices. John’s mind returned to reading with Sherlock, their debates of what spices worked better and comparing the shape of various leaves. 

The meal was ready and tent pitched in a corner of the horses’ least favourite pasture. 

At first bite, John was amazed with the quality of the meal. 

“This is delicious,” he told the prince. 

“I’m glad you think so. I’d be happy to make you more in the future.” 

John could feel himself warming up to Moriarty, but there was still something under the surface that set him on edge. It was the same instinct that told him when a horse was about to throw its rider. 

“John, I am fascinated by you,” Moriarty said quietly. “I would like to know if you would consider marrying me and ruling Florin at my side.” 

John hid his flinch at the memory of those words coming from Sherlock. However, Sherlock was dead and unable to fulfill his promise of marriage. It was five years ago that John lost his true love. The prince could chose any partner he wanted. It was not so much a request as a politely given order. 

John had no choice but to agree. 


	2. Chapter 2

The Florin city square was filled as it never had been before. People came from outlying villages, the Thieves Forest, and within the castle to hear the announcement of the prince’s engagement. It was the first time that John was to be presented officially before the kingdom, and all were abuzz with gossip of the prince’s perfect fiancé.

Horns announced the beginning of the presentation. The king and queen stood on the balcony and looked out at the crowd. Count Moran stood to the side and surveyed the crowd with a gaze that made all who fell under it feel as though they had committed some atrocity against the crown.

“I am pleased to see all of you here today and I welcome you to the castle,” the king began.

“We gather to celebrate the future of this great nation,” the queen continued.

Both turned and extended an arm, welcoming Prince James to the center of the balcony. He looked over the people with the manner of someone who was raised to be above the rest.

With both arms raised, James said, “Hello, my dearest people. A month from now, our great kingdom will celebrate its five hundredth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a man who was once just a commoner such as yourselves. Perhaps, you will not think him so common now. Would you care to meet my love?”

The crowd cheered. A rousing, “Yes!” filled the square.

“My people,” Moriarty said, extending an arm, “Prince John.”

John breathed deeply and stepped forwards from the opposite side of the square. He walked the plush, red carpet and held his head high. Everyone dropped to a knee and John stood alone above the people he would soon come to rule over.

Looking out over them, John felt like an island. He bore a responsibility to Florin, but held no love for the crown. He looked up at Moriarty on the balcony and felt nothing for the man. No loathing, no anger, no love. John saw Sherlock in every other face in the crowd and his soul ached with the emptiness that was left.

After the presentation, John retired to his room. He rid himself of the fine fabrics of the suit he wore. Opening the wardrobe, John found the supple riding clothing he preferred. Durable leather boots fitted perfectly over ankle-length riding breeches. A matching leather jerkin tied over a soft, long-sleeved white shirt. All had been a present from Moriarty upon John’s arrival at the castle.

The door opened and the prince walked through. He hadn’t changed after the event. Moriarty only wore the finest clothing, even when he went hunting.

“You’ve changed so quickly,” Moriarty commented. “Little love, do you not enjoy the nice clothing?”

“I asked you to please refrain from calling me ‘little love’ and you know I prefer riding clothes,” John replied a bit stiffly.

“I know you do, but if you are going to be my husband, you must dress appropriately.”

“This is appropriate. I’m going riding, as I do every day.”

Moriarty shook his head. “If you must. Honestly, some days I think it was a mistake letting you bring that ridiculous horse here. It hardly compares to the white stallions that are in my stable. Wouldn’t you much prefer one of those horses?”

“Raz is my horse. I wasn’t going to leave him behind.”

“If you insist.” Moriarty shrugged his shoulders, hands still tucked away in his pockets. He leaned against the wall and surveyed John as one would a meal. “You know. Maybe I was wrong. You can change. Those breeches look delicious on you.”

John only inclined his head. He didn’t want to offend the prince, but neither did he want to encourage such advances. The thought of another’s hands on him turned his stomach.

“If you’ll excuse me,” John said. “I have a daily ride waiting for me.”

“Of course. You will be home in time for dinner, though.” James smiled. It wasn’t a suggestion, and he loved it. The prince was raised with his every whim met, and he was very fond of the power that the crown gave him.

“Certainly,” John replied. As you wish rang in his memory.

John saddled up and gave Raz a carrot before setting off. He rode for miles, loving the freedom that the forest gave him. Even if the time away was temporary, the further he got from the castle the more John felt a weight lift off of his chest.

A naked, dirty woman was lying on the side of the trail just ahead of John. He slowed Raz to take a look.

Dismounting, John slowly walked  forward.

“Excuse me?” he said softly. “Are you alright, miss?”

The ragged half-sobs wracked her body and John drew closer again.

“I can help you. Can you tell me what happened?” John asked.

The woman looked up and suddenly John felt steel against his throat.

“I’m really sort about this, mate,” said a voice to his right.

And then everything went black.

 

***

Irene Adler stood, completely unperturbed by her own nakedness. Lestrade, however, kept his eyes firmly on the ground.

John’s limp body lay unconscious at their feet.

“Oi, Molly,” Lestrade called out, “It’s ok for you to come out now.”

A short, mousy-looking woman emerged from behind a nearby tree. She took one look at John and rounded on Lestrade.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt him!” Molly yelled, already raising a fist to hit Lestrade on the arm.

“Relax,” Irene said calmly. “He’s just a bit sleepy. Now hand me that uniform.”

Molly handed over the red coat, and Irene held out a hand for Lestrade’s dagger. She cut off a chunk of the fabric containing the Guilder crest and fed it through a space on the horse’s saddle. Reaching into a pile of leaves, she withdrew a concealed riding crop.

With a strong “Hi-ya!” she gave the horse a solid smack on the hindquarters and sent it running back to the castle.

“There, they will find the crest of Guilder and assume it was them who stole the prince’s precious betrothed,” Irene said with a smile. “Lestrade, lift him up, let’s get to the ship.”

Lestrade bent over and slung John across his shoulders. The monarch-to-be was short and not terribly heavy.

They laid John on the ship and set sail for Guilder. Irene went to her chest of clothing and emerged dressed in rich green fabric with gold trim.

She looked over the edge of the ship at the shrinking shore of Florin. “They’ll find his body on the other side in Guilder and be outraged. It only takes a little push for sworn enemies to launch an all-out war.”

“Body?” Molly asked. “What do you mean, body? I thought this was just a little kidnapping. I’m not here for a murder!”

“We have to start a war!” Irene snapped. “You can’t have a war without a body. Don’t worry, it’s a prestigious line of work with a long and glorious tradition. Besides, if you want get money to keep that baby brother of yours in school, you’ll do as I say.”

“I just don’t think he has to die. I mean, John is innocent.”

“Was it right when you killed that man for his food?”

“I had to!” Molly yelled back defensively. “We were starving. What was I supposed to do? Just let myself and Toby die?”

“Yes, well, just remember who posted your bail and saved you from a rotting prison in Greenland. And, I might add, who you still owe another three years of work to in return.”

Lestrade stood from his perch on the higher deck and said, “I agree with Molly.”

“Oh, look at that,” Irene replied, turning to face him. “You agree with the little murderer over here. That doesn’t surprise me; you’re a murderer in the making, after all. Don’t you forget where I found you - slobbering drunk, raving about a man with six fingers on his hand and trying to fight anyone whose sword got within a yard of your own.”

She stepped towards Lestrade with each biting word until she was pressed against his chest. He stood his ground, staring evenly at her and refusing to be cowed. Irene stayed a moment before moving a reasonable distance away again.

“You’re only here for the one trip, anyway. Then you get your money and your information and you can leave again,” Irene said to Lestrade before storming off to the opposite end of the ship.

Lestrade walked back to Molly and patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Irene just has to fuss,” he said.

“I wish it wasn’t done by yelling at us,” Molly replied.

“Eh, at least to us she doesn’t really mean any harm.”

“Yeah. She’s just a bit short on charm.”

Lestrade grinned. “I can always rely on you for a good rhyme.”

Molly returned the smile. “Yes. Well, at least some of the time.”

Being a small boat, Irene wasn’t far away. Thus, she could hear every word.

“Enough of that!” Irene snapped, still set apart from the rest to sulk.

“Molly,” Lestrade said louder. “Do you think there are rocks ahead?”

“If there are,” Molly said, raising her voice as well. “We’ll all be dead!”

Irene shouted, “No more rhymes now! I mean it.”

Just because the opportunity arose, and Lestrade was so inclined, he said, “Would anybody like a peanut?”

This sent Irene into a deeper sulk and they sailed on most of the day in silence. When night fell, John came back to consciousness. It was soon obvious to him that he was trapped on this boat, though he did not know of their intent to kill him.

The moonlight glinted off of the ocean and John couldn’t help but admire the beauty of it.

He addressed Irene. “You know Moriarty will come for me. He’ll hang you when he doe

“He doesn’t even know you’re gone yet,” was Irene’s confident reply.

Lestrade manned the tiller and kept looking over his shoulder. He was half listening to the conversation, and half tracking the massive ship that they shared the waters with.

“What are you looking at?” Irene asked Lestrade. “I just told the pretty prince here that no one in Florin even knows he is gone. And the people in Guilder don’t know we’re coming yet.”

Lestrade only nodded, but he looked over his shoulder again.

“Gavin, stop it,” Irene ordered.

“You’re sure no one is following us?” Lestrade clarified, ignoring the incorrect name.

“It’s inconceivable.”

“Then what is that ship?”

Irene stood and joined Lestrade at the tiller. She looked out over the waters for a moment before dismissing it.

“Probably just some thrill-seeker.”

While they were both distracted by the ship which was clearly drawing nearer, John saw his opportunity and threw himself into the water. Strong and healthy, he began to swim away from his captors.

“Stop him!” Irene shrieked. She was met only with excuses. “Leave it to me to find the two people who can’t swim and yet live in a coastal fucking country. Veer left!”

John swam with sure strokes towards the approaching ship. Anything had to be better than the one he was trapped on. He stopped when a high-pitched sound broke through the splashing of his strokes.

Irene leaned lazily on one elbow at the edge of the boat. “Highness,” she called out. “Have you ever encountered the Shrieking Eels before?” She was the image of calm and unconcerned. “Just give it a minute and you’ll meet one. The sounds grow louder when they sense the promise of human flesh for supper.”

A massive eel, as wide around as John himself, chose that moment to slither by. A fin broke the surface of the water just an arm’s length away from where John was treading.

He flung himself away from it and barely registered Irene’s promises of safety if only he would return to the ship. Natural instincts kicking in, John began swimming backwards, eyes locked on the eel. Suddenly, its mouth rose from the water. A terrible screech emanated from its depths. As John struggled to increase the distance between himself and the monster, a sword shot out and slashed at the eel.

John found himself being lifted back onto the ship by Molly and Lestrade. Panting, he began to shake from the shock of encountering the eel and the cold of the water.

Lestrade couldn’t help but admire John’s bravery. He only mentioned this to Molly, however. She completely agreed.

***

Back in Florin, Moriarty was in a meeting with his trusted advisor and most faithful of subjects, the Count Moran.

“Do you think there has been ample time?” Moriarty asked.

“A few hours have passed, enough for you to have been suspicious. His horse arrived back about a half hour ago.” Count Moran stood and turned to face the large clock that hung just behind him.

Moriarty nodded and stood as well. “It’s show time.”

With fake sorrow draped over him, Moriarty gathered esteemed members of his court. Each and every one of them were present at the announcement of his engagement to John. All of their reactions of horror were genuine when Moriarty solemnly told them that John had been taken prisoner by Guildarians.

“My fellows,” Moriarty called. “I wish to gather a party to go to Guilder and reclaim my kidnapped love. We must find those responsible and bring them back to Florin to face judgement.”

The volunteers were numerous, all believing themselves to be involved in a true and righteous cause. That very night, they boarded a ship headed for Guilder. None knew what they would find when they reached the distant shore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try and update weekly. Uni can get in the way, though. I make no promises. I have a few chapters written thus far.


	3. Chapter 3

“Look!” Irene called out to her fellows. Dawn was just breaking and the sun shot rays over the churning sea. “We’ve reached the Cliffs of Insanity.”

Lestrade looked over his shoulder at the ship that still pursued them. Irene, following his gaze, just waved her hand.

“We’ll be halfway up the cliff before they even get that hulking ship navigated close enough to dock,” she said. “Besides, they didn’t set up a pulley ahead of time. I’d like to see someone try to climb this without a little help.”

Lestrade and Molly docked and tied the ship. There was a pulley system rigged up with three slings and one giant rope to hoist them up.

“I hate to be a downer,” John said, “but there are three seats on that contraption and I can count four of us.”

Irene laughed. “Of course we wouldn’t let you have one. You are going to be tied to the backs of the three of us.”

This seemed to be new information to Lestrade and Molly, but they had sense enough to keep their mouths shut. Though that didn’t stop Molly from rolling her eyes or Lestrade from stifling a laugh. 

It took a minute, but soon they all were strapped in. John was tied back-to-back against both Lestrade and Molly. His arms were bound to his sides and the rope that looped between his legs pinched uncomfortably every time Lestrade reached up to get another grip on the rope. 

Slowly but steadily, the three pulled the rope and ascended the cliff. Panting, they reached the top and rolled off one another into the dirt and sand. John was cut loose from all his bonds save the ones that joined his hands. Small cuts stung on his wrists, but they were easily ignored. 

He stood while everyone was catching their breath and make a lunge for Lestrade’s dagger. 

“Oi!” Lestrade yelled, easily throwing John off of him and drawing his sword. 

Not to be discouraged, John ran at him. His shoulder was tucked down, ready to take them both over the edge of the cliff if necessary. 

“Oh for god-” Lestrade said. He tossed his sword aside and caught John in the middle. Without the use of his hands, John was easily overpowered. 

Irene and Molly watched from the side, one in amusement and one in sympathy.

“Really, John. Lestrade is quite strong, and I don’t think it would be much for him to hurt you, especially tied like that,” Molly said. “Please just come with us?” 

John looked at her with venom. “Why the fuck would I want to come with you? I’m not stupid. I know you’re just going to kill me once we get deeper into Guilder.”

That shut Molly up. Irene, on the other hand, lazily applauded.

“Well done, little princeling, figuring out the big bad wolf’s plan,” she said. “Too bad there is fuck all you can do about it.”

Lestrade looked down and saw that the ship following them had succeeded in docking and a man dressed entirely in black was beginning to climb their rope. His weight wasn’t enough to cause the pulleys to draw him up easily, but it looked like he didn’t need the assistance anyway. 

“I think that man is following us,” Lestrade pointed out smugly to Irene.

She looked over before grabbing John by the hair and snapping back, “Cut the rope!” 

Lestrade did so and was impressed when the Man in Black still clung to the cliff face.

“Lestrade, wait here,” Irene ordered. “When he gets to the top, use your sword. Meet back up with me and Molly after.”

Irene turned and walked away, dragging John by the hair and forcing him to bend his head down to her arm level. 

“Molly, to me!” Irene called over her shoulder. 

“You be careful, ok?” Molly asked Lestrade before turning and running after the other two. They perched themselves far enough ahead to have a substantial start, but not so far that the little dot  of Lestrade couldn’t be seen. 

 

*** 

 

“Are you ok, my friend?” Lestrade called over the edge.

“I’m fine. Enjoying the weather today,” the Man in Black replied dryly. 

“Oh yes, it is beautiful sailing weather. I would love to take a boat out and just fish all day.”

“A boring past time if there ever was one.”

“Why so boring?”

“As much as I would love to sit and discuss the weather with you, climbing this is actually rather difficult. If you wouldn’t mind shutting up, or better yet, throwing me the rope you so kindly cut a few minutes ago?”

Lestrade looked over his shoulder at the rope. “I have rope here that I could help you up with.”

“That’s fine, I already know you won’t kill me once I get up there. Daddy issues, but it left you with an unhealthy sense of honor.” 

“That’s amazing! How did you know?” Lestrade remarked. He quickly backtracked, “But I don’t know about the term ‘daddy issues’ to describe it. My father died when I was very young. I have since dedicated my life to avenging him.”

“A cause you no doubt think is noble.”

“Of course it is.”

The Man in Black gave no reply to that, simply kept up his steady climb. A thick braid of rope thumped to his right and he grinned. Reaching out, he grabbed it and began scaling the few remaining yards with much more ease. 

He reached the top and instantly snapped into a fighting stance. 

Lestrade waved him off. “Catch your breath. If I tried to fight you now, it would be unfair. I would win and you would not have even regained full use of your lungs.”

The Man in Black nodded and took a seat on a nearby rock. “Thank you for the reprieve. Not all opponents would be so kind.”

“You were right, my father taught me to be an honorable man.” Lestrade took the seat beside him and adjusted his sword to accomodate.

“Your weapon is of impeccable make. Your father obviously made it, but I’m wondering why the handle is ill-fitted for your hand?”

Lestrade smiled and unsheathed his blade, offering it to the Man in Black. “My father made this sword for a man with six fingers on his right hand. The handle was made to accommodate him. He was a master, my father. His swords were balanced and aesthetically beautiful.”

The Man in Black gripped the blade and weighted it carefully, taking a few harmless practice swings before agreeing that the balance was impeccable. The blade was returned to Lestrade and the Man in Black drew his own. 

“I’m ready now if you are,” he said to Lestrade. The Man in Black drew his sword and assumed a left handed stance. Lestrade did the same. 

They began in a flurry of movement. The sharp clink of steel on steel rang through the area. Lestrade was impressed by the man’s quick footwork and could tell that his opponent was holding back. 

“You are very good, sir,” Lestrade said. “I hate to kill you.”

“You, too, are excellent,” replied the Man in Black. “I hate to die.”

The fight carried on; sand flew in every direction and picked up speed as the footwork each used got more and more complex. The Man in Black gained higher ground and Lestrade followed, taking advantage of the other’s briefly unsteady footing. 

With his opponent backed against a wall, Lestrade smiled. “I have never met another of your skill. Please, before I kill you, tell me your name?”

“I would, were you about to kill me,” the Man in Black said. He was confident, voice steady despite his precarious position. The wall that he was backed against began to crumble from the pressure of the two men and stones fell from it into the waters far below. 

“Aren’t I about to kill you?” Lestrade asked, confused.

“No, because I know something that you do not.”

“And what is that?”

“I am not left-handed.”

The Man in Black pushed Lestrade off of him and quickly switched hands. His blows were faster, his moves more tightly controlled. The sword was an extension of him, and he felt it just as keenly as if he were simply moving another limb. 

The tide quickly turned against Lestrade, and he smiled. The smile turned into a grin and the Man in Black took notice.

“What are you grinning about?” he asked.

“I am not left-handed either,” Lestrade said. He switched his sword and they were evenly matched once again. 

Moving quickly, both were forced to think fast and employ various styles of fighting. With a lucky move and a chance shot, the Man in Black was able to disarm Lestrade. 

Taking to his knees, Lestrade bowed his head. “I have to ask you again. If you are going to kill me, I must know your name.” 

“I wouldn’t kill you; skill such as yours is rare in this world and should be preserved,” the Man in Black said. He promptly knocked Lestrade over the head with the butt of his own blade, set it beside him, and carried on in search of the others. 

High over the battleground, Irene, Molly, and John watched as Lestrade was bested by the stranger. 

“You stay here,” Irene instructed. “When he comes around this corner, hit whatever points you have to in order to kill him. It should only take one solid, strong hit to finish him off. Then catch up to me.” 

Molly nodded and didn’t voice her apprehension. Someone who could defeat Lestrade was certainly no easy opponent. She hoped her knowledge was enough, because she was no match for him in sheer strength. 

Irene then blindfolded John and once again dragged him behind her. 

“So it’s just you and me then, huh?” John asked. “Not much considering I’m pretty sure I could take you in a fight. Why don’t you untie me and we’ll see.”

“Like I would be stupid enough to do that. Bound like this, you’re helpless. Even if you were able to be free, you have lost the use of your hands and your eyes.” 

She reached an open area and knocked John out with the handle of her dagger. She bound him to a tree. Irene knew that she spoke boldly, but there was no doubt in her mind that if it came to a physical fight between herself and John, the only beneficial outcome to her would be to stab him on the spot. They had not yet reached the designated murder point, and the second half of her payment only came when the body was found in the correct area. 

Irene seated herself on a rock and set up a makeshift table and picnic for herself. She then prepared to wait for either the Man in Black or Molly. 

 

***

 

Molly limbered up and looked down at the path’s bottleneck. She knew that if the stranger came around the corner, it would only be a matter of pressing the right pressure point to knock him out or kill him. She wanted to only knock him out. Molly didn’t fancy herself a murderer. 

One hit to the forehead, knocking the head back, and another to the throat would do the trick. 

The Man in Black ran around the corner and Molly backflipped off of her perch to land perfectly in front of him. 

“That was a warning. I figure I should give you some sort of warning before knocking you out,” she said confidently. 

“Knocking me out? I hate to be a bother, but I am significantly bigger than you in all areas that are important for a physical confrontation.” 

“Pressure points are my specialty,” Molly said with a hint of pride in her voice. “When you’re built like me you have to develop a way to defend yourself.” 

“I’m impressed, but I still think you are at a disadvantage. I have a sword and am quite good with it. Your friend Lestrade was formidable, but I am here and he is lying unconscious in the dirt.” The Man in Black smirked. “I can read your concern for him all over your face. I know you watched the fight; impressive, yes?”

“I was mildly impressed. I don’t know what Irene really thought about it, though.” 

“Irene?” the Man in Black asked. “Oh, of course, your boss!”

“Yes.”

“She wasn’t impressed?”

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with Irene. She’s pretty unreadable. Sent me here to stop you.”

“And are you going to?”

“Well, not if you have that sword I’m not. Don’t you think we should make the competition more fair?” Molly asked politely. There was no hint of deception about her. 

Crossing his arms, the Man in Black asked, “What do you propose?”

“A physical battle, no weapons, just our bodies.”

“Fine then, a physical battle.” He set aside his sword and dagger. Then they stood face to face. 

Molly was the first to make a move, she darted forwards and faked a left before bringing her hand up and landing a solid hit where jaw met skull. The man immediately brought his hand up to touch where Molly had landed the hit, and she took advantage of the motion. 

Leaning in, Molly landed her knuckles solidly between two ribs of his exposed side. She darted back, fast as hell and light on her feet - it was obvious that she knew what was going on.

“Damn,” the Man in Black said, still rubbing his jaw. “You must have studied this.”

“I told you, I needed a way to defend myself.”

“But it wasn’t just you. Someone else. Family, younger sibling.”

“My brother is of no concern to you. Now if you’re ready, I can knock you out.”

“I studied pressure points for a while during my travels. Where did you learn this?”

“I had a book and practiced. It isn’t that hard once you know what you are looking for. Basic anatomy lesson and anyone can do it.”

In an impressive show of acrobatics, Molly ran up a wall and threw her body into a backflip to stand behind the taller figure. 

Molly darted forwards again, but this time her blow was blocked. She felt a painful pressure to the soft divot in the curve between neck and shoulder. Her immediate reaction was to punch out towards the source. An easy duck out of the way and the Man in Black solidly hit Molly’s throat. 

Out of sorts, she retreated backwards and watched her opponent carefully. He made a run for her that was easily cast aside. Without knowing, Molly had aided in her own trap. From behind, the insides of her knees were hit, causing her to crash to the floor. 

Before there was time for her to move, the Man in Black had her pinned down on her stomach, one arm pulled back and held at a painful angle. 

“I won’t kill you, if that is what you are afraid of. You clearly have advanced knowledge of the human body, but I have a significant upper hand. I can see your moves before you make them. The decision plays over your face and then you act. I must say, without that, I would have been lost.” The Man in Black hit Molly hard in the temple. She was knocked out, but he checked to make sure that she would live.

“I hope you live a long and happy life with your brother,” he whispered before carrying on.

***

“There was a fight here,” Moriarty announced to the assembled party. They stood upon the Cliffs of Insanity and watched as the prince spun dramatically, reenacting the fight scene. 

“Someone was dragged away before the fight began, but it wasn’t long before,” he said. “The two were master swordsman and it ranged all over this area. The winner ran off that way!”

Moriarty pointed to the only possible way out of the alcove - a tight, bottlenecked pathway that looked rather long. 

He turned again, silently enjoying the way his cloak followed suit. “The loser was knocked out and ran the same way, but surely not to the same destination.”

He followed the path and his assembled followed him. Count Moran rolled his eyes, knowing how much Moriarty loved hunting and showing off his skill. They came to another spot and Moriarty once again regaled the assembled with his observation. All except Count Moran were impressed. 

“We must find my prince. If the Guildarians have touched a single hair on his head there will be a severe price to pay.” Moriarty remounted his prize white horse and rode on. 

***

 

The Man in Black came over the hill an Irene smiled to herself. 

“I’ve been waiting,” she called out to the stranger. “Would you like to have dinner?”

“A bit early for dinner, don’t you think?” 

“Not at all, I was thinking of having the little prince here.” Irene smiled broadly and raised her dagger to hold against John’s throat. “Another step and I’ll litter this table with bits and pieces of him. He is what you came for, yes?”

“Indeed, but let me explain.”

“There is nothing to explain. You are trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen.”

“Whoever holds that man controls the future of Florin and Guilder.”

“And look at where the pretty thing is sitting!”

“Tied to a tree? Doesn’t look terribly comfortable.”

“I can’t imagine it is,” Irene said.

“It isn’t,” John stated blandly. “It’s effective and entirely uncreative, but also uncomfortable. Mind untying me?”

“You’re so funny, darling. You sit tight while the big bad man here and I have a talk.”

“A bargain,” the Man in Black said. “A game of wits and the victor walks away with the prince.”

“I’m not some sort of fucking trophy, you do realize,” John complained loudly. 

“Oh hush up!” Irene chided. She turned to the Man in Black and nodded. Irene sheathed her dagger and gestured to the empty seat. 

“My game is a simple one,” he said. The man took the two glasses of wine and hid them behind his back, then set both of them in front of himself. “I have just poisoned one of these glasses of wine. It is scentless and odorless, and this game only has one move.”

“Go on.”

The Man in Black slid one glass towards Irene and left the other directly in front of himself. He waved at the table to signal the beginning of the challenge. 

“Well I can’t pick the glass in front of you, because you would want me to think that you put the poison as far from you as possible, which I’m sure you could anticipate - therefore the wine close to you must contain the poison,” Irene said. 

The man tilted his head questioningly, but didn’t interrupt her train of thought. 

“But surely that was known to you, so the poison must be in the wine in front of me. But it would be such an obvious trick, and you are such an anomaly of a man that the obvious would never suit you, so it has to be the wine in front of you. You like danger, living to the fullest as they say. Of course you would put the wine in front of yourself. But you have to know that I would be able to tell what kind of criminal you are, so you would obviously put the wine in front of me.”

“Enough!” barked the Man in Black. “You are clearly of average to above-average intelligence. You and I both know that you aren’t in this to die. I can see it all over your face. Such a strong front, but this is all just a job. You just need the money. Let me guess, orphaned daughter? You had to leave her in some seedy place because the father abandoned you, and who can get work around here with a baby hanging onto them? Kate, right? Your daughter.”

“Oh you are clever,” Irene purred. “I was a seamstress. There isn’t much money in dressmaking. Well, at least not enough to support us both.”

“Lots of money in starting wars, though?”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. I’ve got a sponsor.”

This seemed to surprise her opponent and Irene reveled in the moment. “Did you not know?”

“Florin and Guilder are sworn enemies. It doesn’t take much to start a war when both have already amassed supplies. Who would sponsor a war, then? Why not just make an offhanded comment or burn a trade ship?”

“I think he has a flair for the dramatic,” Irene hinted. “But enough of these games, we have to toast! It has been ever so fun playing.”

“Indeed.”

Irene grabbed the glass in front of herself and the Man in Black did the same. They toasted one another and long life. Then, they both drank. 

Irene grinned after a moment when nothing happened. “You see, dear, I am far smarter than you think I am. It was a simple puzzle, really. I’m surprised that you ev-” Irene collapsed dead in her seat. 

The Man in Black stood and untied John. He removed the blindfold, but not the rope that held his hands together. Then, with considerable effort, he began to run, with John struggling to keep up behind him. 


	4. Chapter 4

The Man in Black and John reached the top of a hill that overlooked the valley leading to the Fire Swamp.

“Rest here,” the Man in Black said.

John stood and leveled his eyes at the stranger. He was tall and lean, a black bandanna tied around his head and a mask obscuring the majority of his face.

“I suppose you are going to kill me now,” John challenged.

“Not a chance, Prince,” the other man taunted. “I’m going to talk to you and then send you back to your true love, Prince Moriarty.”

“I never said he was my true love.”

“And yet you are set to marry him! I bet you don’t even know the meaning of the word love. A simple thing like you. Richly dressed and coddled daily.”

“I have loved more than a criminal like yourself ever could. I know who you are.”

“Enlighten me,” the Man in Black took a seat, lounging and stretching impossibly long legs out in front of him.

“You are the Dread Pirate Roberts.” The pirate made a mock bow, and John continued. “You murdered my true love. Killed him without a second thought.”

“I may have. I’ve murdered plenty of people. Describe this one to me.”

John sat down heavily, still a good distance away. “He was tall and brilliant. Poor, but far from simple. He had eyes the color of a turning wave that made you feel as if he knew everything about you in a single look.”

“I do think I remember this true love of yours,” the Dread Pirate said. “I did kill him, some five years ago now. I remember I asked him what he had to live for. His response was, ‘True love.’ Now, imagine my surprise - an angry man with the sharpest tongue I had ever come across wanted to live for true love. I was intrigued. He told me of a man of unsurpassed greatness whom that he left behind on a farm, I can only assume he meant you.”

The pirate stood and John hastened to follow suit. Over the crest of the distant hill, the prince’s banners could be seen waving above the search party.

“There he is now; I told you he would come for me. He’ll give me your head if I demand it,” John said.

“You know nothing! Your love, a man named Sherlock. He told me of you, of his promise to return to you. Yet you didn’t believe in him and joined yourself to another.”

“I died with him! You have no idea what it did to me to hear of his death. You can die too for all I care.”

John pulled his hands apart - he had worked the rope off of his wrists during their conversation. He punched the pirate in the same place on his jaw that Molly had landed her blow. Sweeping his feet out from under him, John sent the man tumbling down the steep hill towards the Fire Swamp.

He watched, and to his horror heard the pirate yell, “As you wish.”

“Sherlock!” John yelled. Seeing no alternative, John threw himself down after Sherlock, hoping that it wasn’t just his imagination playing tricks on him again.

They tumbled and landed in a heap, out of sight from the search party. John wasted no time in holding Sherlock down and straddling his hips.

“Where the fuck have you been?” John said, low and menacing. Without waiting for an answer, John punched Sherlock hard in the stomach.

Sherlock let out a groan of pain, but couldn’t move because John still sat atop him.

“I genuinely was attacked by the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“Yes, and he killed you. Now you think it is fine to just show up here perfectly alive and calling yourself Roberts? That doesn’t seem the least bit fucking insane to you?”

“It does, and I did all I could to get back. I had to wait it out, but he taught me so much and I inherited the title.”

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you. The day I heard you were gone, I wanted to burn every last book and forget that yo-”

John was forced to cut off by Sherlock kissing him. Sherlock sat up and wrapped his arms around John’s torso. He put his apology and all his love into that kiss; It made up for five years of absence and just barely scraped the surface of what John had gone through. John kiss back with equal emotion and fervor.

“I missed you so fucking much,” John reiterated. “I would have done anything to get you back.”

“I know.” Sherlock looked up to see Prince Moriarty’s banners rising above the crest of the hill. “Quick, get up, we have to get into the Fire Swamp.”

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think I’m going in there. Everyone dies in there.”

“The we shall set an impressive precedent.” Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and led him headlong into danger. John, without a second thought or moment of hesitation, ran right after him.

They trudged through the swamp, Sherlock leading and swinging his sword to make a path.

“So how did you become a pirate? I seem to remember you telling me that you thought being a pirate would be the most fun job,” John teased.

“Well, what I told you was true. The last Dread Pirate Roberts was indeed ready to kill me. I deserved it as well. As soon as I got on the ship I saw what kind of simpering idiots they were and proceeded to tell them so.” Sherlock swiped at another giant web of growth agh blocked their path.

“Before he killed me, he asked if I had any last words or anything to live for. ‘True love,’ I told him simply.” Sherlock turned and smiled at John, a small, private smile despite the fact that they were alone. John returned the gesture and Sherlock carried on. “He let me live and I worked on his ship. I started as just a ship’s hand, but soon worked my way higher. Soon enough, he told me the history of the Dread Pirate Roberts.”

“And it was?”

“He was not the original Dread Pirate Roberts. The man before him was not the original either. They pass the title on and then retire.”

“And now it is you?” John asked. He grabbed Sherlock’s arm, nearly tripping on a tree root that seemed to spring up from nowhere.

“And now it is me,” Sherlock repeated, bracing until John was back on sure footing. John noted the change. Sherlock hated to repeat himself.

They fought on and John told Sherlock of the farm, but deliberately skittered away from talking about the depression that he’d sunk into. Sherlock noticed the omission, but chose not to say anything about it.

They were moving over the high roots of a tree when Sherlock stepped in sand. He immediately was swallowed entirely by the ground.

“Sherlock!” John shouted, but he received no answer. Grabbing a vine, John dove headfirst into the sand. Moments later he emerged, sputtering and struggling for breath, an equally struggling Sherlock clutching John’s shoulders.

They collapsed beside the pit and Sherlock gasped out, “Lightning sand. Fucking stuff.”

John sucked air into his lungs and began sputtering when sand got caught in there as well. He shook off the sand from his shirt sleeve and use it to wipe his face off. There was a crackle and a hiss off to his left and John dove for Sherlock, just barely missing the flame spurt.

Sherlock let out an “oomf!” when John hit him, but made no effort to throw him off.

John grinned and kissed him once, quickly before standing and offering Sherlock his hand. They forged on and John noticed something out the corner of his eye.

“Sherlock,” John said quietly, “How much longer to the other side? Just give me a guess, even if you know it’s wrong.”

“I don’t know, maybe a half an hour if we’re lucky. I’ve walked through here before.”

“When you were here, did you see any R.O.U.S.es?”

“Rodents of unusual size?” Sherlock gave John a curious look before his face broke into a grin. “Of course not! Everyone knows they are myths.”

Just then, with the perfect timing that only comes around once a lifetime, an R.O.U.S. threw itself down from above them and landed on Sherlock. It was wider than him across, but wasn’t as tall.

“Sherlock!” John yelled, searching for a weapon.

The rat latched onto Sherlock’s shoulder and locked its jaw. Sherlock screamed in pain and rolled, trying to throw the R.O.U.S. off himself. John noticed Sherlock’s sword a step away and watched the progression of the fight. John, abandoning his hard-won safety, lunged for Sherlock’s sword.

“John, stop!” Sherlock yelled. There was the distinct sound of popping and John was going to land inches from the flame spurt.  

John ignored Sherlock and grabbed the sword. He slashed at the R.O.U.S., aiming for the bulk of the rat and avoiding Sherlock. He landed a few swipes, but was distracted when a flame spurt went off and singed his sleeve. John stumbled away, surprised. Sherlock rolled and the rat landed in the fire. It gave a wretched wail and released Sherlock’s shoulder.

The rat spasmed a few times and John stabbed it fully through, just to be sure that it was dead. Sherlock gasped in pain and John leant down to him.

“Good news, you haven’t actually lost that much blood. Bad news, a rat bit your shoulder,” John said in a stressed voice. He was trying to make light of the situation, but could see that his efforts failed.

He hauled Sherlock up, the taller man leaning heavily on his shoulder.

It took the half hour that Sherlock predicted for them to reach the other side of the Fire Swamp.

At first sight of the exit, John pointed excitedly and said, “Look, Sherlock! We’ve made it!”

Sherlock nodded and kissed John, one arm wrapped around his waist. Once he had gotten steady footing again, Sherlock was able to walk independently. He ignored the throbbing in his shoulder and didn’t think about the possibility of infection. Head cleared, he led them out of the swamp.

They stood in the thinner forrest and looked around before stepping forwards again. John was unsure of where they were going to go, but it didn’t matter. Sherlock had come for him.

A crossbow arrow buried itself in the ground a foot in front of them and Sherlock jerked to a stop.

Moriarty rode frowards from behind a tree, a smug smile played across his features.

“Surrender!” Moriarty said haughitly.

“Oh, you wish to surrender to me?” Sherlock asked. “Very well, I accept.”

Moriarty glared and changed tactics.

“Darling, I thought you had died!” he said, loud enough for anyone in a two-mile radius to hear. He held his hand out to John and the barest hint of a snarl appeared at John’s refusal to touch it.

“I see you’ve tricked my poor, simple groom,” Moriarty said to Sherlock. He waved a hand at the assembled, all aiming at Sherlock. “Kill him.”

“No!” John shouted, stepping to stand between Sherlock and Moriarty. “This man is the captain of a ship called Revenge. Return him to it and I will come with you.”

Count Moran rode abreast to the prince and offerred, “Sire, if the prince wants his captor returned to the ship, I can make sure of it.”

“Very well,” Moriarty said. He turned to John, “Will that satisfy you?”

“Yes,” John said quietly. He turned to Sherlock and embraced him, holding tightly. “You died once. Never again. Not if I can do something to stop it.”

“As you wish.”

Moriarty pushed his horse forwards and nearly trampled the pair in an effort to separate them. “Come now, John. We have a wedding!”

John swung his leg up and mounted the house behind Moriarty. He turned back to watch Sherlock until the man was no longer visible.

When they were left alone, Count Moran said, “Come now, pirate, I must get you to your ship.”

Sherlock regarded him with loathing. “We are men of action. Lies do not become us.”

“Indeed.”

Sherlock then noticed the six fingers on Count Moran’s hand and couldn’t help a smile.

“What is so amusing?” the count asked.

“I see you have six fingers on your right hand,” Sherlock replied. “I was just remembering this story a friend told me once about a man with six fingers on one hand. He was quite keen to find such a man again.”

There was a hard blow to the back of Sherlock’s head and he crumpled to the ground.

***

There was water. Sherlock was slowly coming to consciousness and he was aware of water on his torso.  No, his shoulder.

Sherlock cracked his eyes open. There was an albino man leaning over him. The man’s hair was dirty and his lips horribly chapped.

“Ah, you’re awake,” the man said. Finally was implied.

“And you are tending to my wounds,” Sherlock remarked. “A little weird of the prince, wanting the man he is going to kill all patched up.”

“Oh no, you're not being fixed up because of the prince.” The albino man gave a weedy laugh.  It perfectly matched his nasal, rasping voice.

“Then upon whose orders are you cleaning me up? Who even are you?”

“Anderson. I’m making sure you are well because Count Moran wants his experiments to be unimpeded by wounds and other physical maladies. He’s rather excited because you’re in peak physical condition. The Machine has never met someone who is so healthy.”

“And what is the Machine?”

“The count’s little pet project. He’s quite smart. I can’t really tell you what it does, though. I think he likes the element of surprise.”

Over the next two days, Anderson nursed Sherlock back to health. He had healed enough for the count to begin experimentation. That morning, Anderson told him that they were to expect a very special visitor.

“Are you ever going to just eat what I give you?” Anderson asked, exasperated. It became increasingly obvious to Anderson that not only was Sherlock smarter than him, but the man was going to make sure that Anderson knew at every possible opportunity.

“Boring. Not hungry.” Sherlock was strapped to the table.

“Fine, have it your way. Not like I give a damn.”

“You’re too stupid and sniveling to give a damn, Anderson. Everything you do is pathetic and designed to suck up to your precious count.”

“If you knew what a powerful and brilliant man the count was, you’d suck up to him as well.”

“Doubtful.”

The door above them creaked open and Anderson scuttled away from Sherlock. Count Moran walked calmly down the steps and handed his coat off to Anderson in a practiced move.

“Have you kept my little darling healthy, Phillip?” The count asked.

“Yes, sir. Just as you asked. He is healing nicely.”

“Good. I’m very pleased with such news.”

Sherlock tried to turn his head and get a look at the man, but he stood out of range.

“I consider myself a man of science, you see,” the count said, moving into Sherlock’s peripheral vision. “You were right when you called me a man of action.”

“I’m always right,” Sherlock shot back haughtily.

“Yes, well. We’ll see how right you are when my machine gets to you. Do you know what she does?”

“Enlighten me.”

“She can take years off of your life. Suck them away, so to speak.”

Sherlock’s head was clamped between two suction cups. More were placed along his torso. Something was shoved in his mouth, but he couldn’t tell what.

“Now I’ll need you to describe what you feel in great detail. I want every agonizing second of it to detail here.” Moran’s voice was silky, of a tone that makes you want to obey its every whim. “We’ll start on the lowest setting and see how it goes.”

Sherlock would have denied him were it not for the inability to move or speak.

There was a great heaving sound and Sherlock could hear rushing water. Then the most excruciating pain overtook him. It was as though every nerve ending was being set on fire; the blood in his veins began to move at double, triple the regular speed. His heart thundered wildly and the vague sound of screaming could be heard in the distance. Then, just as quick as it had started, the pain stopped.

Sherlock lay on the table panting, tears streaming down his face and his chest heaving.

“That was just one year,” Moran said. “Imagine, one day we may even get you up to five. For now, can you tell me how that felt?”

Sherlock’s only response was a whimper.

**Author's Note:**

> Characters property of the BBC, Steven Moffat, and Mark Gatiss. Themes and plot based on the 1987 movie, _Princess Bride_. Some of the iconic and most quotable dialogue from the film is included. Thank you to Ally for being a lovely beta and to Alex and Becs for letting me badly describe what is happening in my head.


End file.
